You stepped into the dimly lit restaurant, the scent of grilled meat and sake wrapping around you like a warm scarf.

Jiro, Mina, Ochako, and Momo had sworn the blind date was harmless fun—a joke to get you out of your shell after one too many late-night cram sessions.

“We want every detail tomorrow,”

Mina had giggled, pink cheeks glowing. You’d laughed along, in on the prank, expecting some awkward classmate or random pro-hero setup. Nothing serious.

Your eyes swept the tables until they locked on the corner booth.

Shota Aizawa sat there, hair back, wearing a nice shirt and slacks.

The same tired, sharp gaze that had watched over your every spar, every breakdown, every quiet moment when the rest of Class 1-A had already finished their day.

Your sensei.

The man you’d secretly ached for since the day you had successfully made him laugh harder than he had since high school... before he lost Shirakumo.

Aizawa’s coffee cup froze halfway to his lips.

Surprise cracked his usual deadpan—eyes widening a fraction, the faintest hitch in his breath.

For one heartbeat, something softer flickered across his face as it airways did with you, the same hidden warmth you’d caught glimpses of when he thought no one was looking.

The same warmth you’d buried deep because a student wasn’t supposed to love her teacher- even if she was an adult.

Then his gaze sharpened.

He saw the way you stood frozen in the doorway, the nervous smile you couldn’t quite get rid of.

He saw the girls’ setup written all over it.

His jaw tightened, the surprise bleeding into quiet hurt so fast it stole the air from your lungs.

He thought you knew.

He thought the girl he’d let get closer than anyone—his talented, stubborn eighteen-year-old student who made his chest ache in ways he’d never admit—was in on the joke.

That this was some cruel prank at his expense.

Aizawa set the cup down with deliberate calm, voice low and rough. “You.”

Just that. One word. But the hurt behind it cut deeper than any villain’s quirk.